After turning down Dax’s offer, and similar suggestions from board members, Jagger turned the focus of the meeting back to the Black Jacks and their ambition to become the dominant outlaw MC, not just in the state, but nationwide. Instead of a full-on assault, the Jacks had infiltrated Sinner support clubs, turning members into puppet Jacks, willing to do their dirty work in exchange for the promise of being allowed to set up their own chapters. The Jacks had undercut some of the Sinners’ more lucrative arms contracts by using locals to run guns and evade detection.

Fed up with being on the defensive, Jagger and the national Sinner’s Tribe president had come up with a plan to plant an informant inside the Black Jack clubhouse who could feed them information, allowing them to gain the upper hand. National would be fielding candidates, but did the board have anyone in mind?

“I’ll do it.” T-Rex, now sporting a massive bruise on his forehead from Axle’s blow, jumped up when Jagger threw the question to the table. Easygoing and good-natured, T-Rex was well-liked and respected by the club members, but he didn’t have the edge that their rat would need to stand up to Viper, president of the Jacks.

“Needs to be someone connected to the club,” Jagger said. “But not in an obvious way. We have to assume they know who we are, so we’re looking for people who owe the club a favor. They gotta be smart and savvy otherwise Viper will sniff them out. We all know what happens to rats.”

“Same thing that shoulda happened to Axle, but the bastard got away,” Zane mumbled.

“Hard to believe he got away from you,” Gunner said. “You’re the fourth best shot in the club.”

“Fourth?” Tank, a dark-haired, slightly stockier version of T-Rex, scratched his head.

Gunner glanced over at Jagger and smirked. “Me, then Arianne, then Jagger, then Zane, then Cade.”

Cade bristled. “Girls don’t count.”

“And even if they did,” Jagger’s lips quirked at the corners. “Arianne can’t outshoot me.”

“That’s not what she says.” Gunner turned his attention back to Zane. “So now you’re bumped up to third. Makes it even harder to understand how Axle got away.”

“I had him trapped behind Big Bill’s shop and I ran out of ammo.” Zane didn’t see any need to mention Evie, or the fact he’d let Axle go to ensure she got away safely. Nor did he feel a need to mention the fact that Evie and Axle knew each other in what seemed to be more than a business-related way. Not until he understood what the fuck was going on.

“You ran out of ammo?” Gunner’s incredulous look would have been almost comical if not for the fact he sounded really pissed off, and pissing off the MC’s sergeant-at-arms was never a good idea. At six feet five inches tall, and heavy with muscle, his bald head tatted and his fists like clubs, Gunner could beat any man in a fight without breaking a sweat. Although Zane was vice president, Gunner was in charge of order in the club, and Zane was pretty sure letting a Black Jack go was a serious breach of the rules.

“I ran out of ammo. You got a problem with that?” Obviously Gunner did have a problem because he was now out of his chair and eating up the distance between them with easy strides of his long legs.

“What were you carrying?”

“Full-size Springfield XD.” Too late Zane realized his mistake—a mistake he would never have made if he’d been sober. Gunner came by his road name because he knew everything about weapons, and he would know exactly how much ammo Zane’s weapon held.

“The magazine holds thirteen. You missed thirteen shots?”

“Maybe I emptied it out earlier when I used your bike for target practice.” Zane pushed his chair away from the table. If Gunner wanted a fight, he’d get a fight. Something to liven up an otherwise dull meeting, and take Zane’s mind off the woman who had dominated his thoughts all week.

“Stand down.” Jagger shoved Zane back in his chair. “Gunner, take a seat. I’m not paying to have this bar redone again. The Jacks did enough damage the night they came here after Arianne.”

“Fucking Jacks,” Zane mumbled. And they were. Fucking. Jacks. They’d shot up Rider’s Bar in retribution for the Sinners blowing up their ice house, and only Arianne’s timely intervention and skill with a weapon had saved the bar from being totally destroyed.

“Fucking Axle,” Gunner said as he settled back in his chair.

“He’s like a cockroach.” Cade drained his glass. “No matter what we do, he keeps coming back. We can’t catch him. We can’t kill him—”

Gunner cut him off with a snort. “He’s been at Big Bill’s shop twice in the last few days. There’s something there he wants which means he’s gonna be back. This time, I’ll be there waiting for him. I don’t mind keeping watch, especially if that cute little detailer is around. Man, she’s got the sweetest little ass, and those jugs…”

Zane pushed himself up so fast his chair fell backwards. He didn’t want any of the Sinners around Evie. Although she was married, he knew his brothers, and some of them weren’t deterred by things like wedding rings or kids.

“Christ. Not again. Get a fucking grip.” Jagger held out an arm, blocking Zane’s path to a stunned Gunner.

“She’s an old friend.” Jagger raised his voice over Ted Nugent’s “Cat Scratch Fever,” now blasting through the speakers. “Zane and I both knew her growing up. So no disrespect.”

Gunner held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No disrespect intended, brothers.”

Still primed and ready for a fight, Zane turned and pounded his fist into the wall, leaving a dent beside the many other dents from the many other bikers who came to the bar to drown their sorrows and vent their rage during a war that had seen far too many causalities.

“I agree with Gun.” Jagger folded his hands on the table as if Zane wasn’t about to explode beside him. “We need someone posted inside Big Bill’s shop during work hours and someone outside when it’s closed over the next few days. It’s our best shot at catching Axle. Evie said he was there for personal reasons. I’ll give her a call to see if she’ll give me any more information, but she’s reluctant to talk because both the Jacks and the Sinners are potential clients for her.”

Zane opened his mouth to ask Jagger to handle the surveillance personally, and closed it again when he remembered the kiss that had started it all, and the night he’d discovered that there was pain worse than the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father. Although nine years had passed, and Jagger had found the other half of his soul with Arianne, Zane didn’t think his heart could go through that kind of pain again.

“I’ll do it.” Zane settled back in his chair. “Shooter can stay outside and I’ll take the inside watch.”

“You sure? I need someone to check out the local support clubs for puppet Jacks.” Jagger lifted an eyebrow, giving Zane an out if he wanted it.

“Yeah. Although maybe not first thing in the morning, ’cause I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get out of bed.”

Jagger clapped him on the back. “Shooter will take you back to the clubhouse. He’s waiting outside with the bikes. I couldn’t let him come in because last time he almost shot the place up when he saw some dude at the bar wearing a TV show cut.”

“That boy’s got a serious gun problem,” Zane said. “He carries more weapons on him than Cade had notches on his belt before hooking up with Dawn. Sometimes I wonder how he stands upright.”

“Well then it’s a good thing he’ll be your second.” Gunner raised a challenging eyebrow. “No risk that boy’s gonna run out of ammo.”

“Fuck you.” Zane steadied himself with the back of the chair. Holy Hell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this drunk. Usually he stopped at one drink, sometimes two, because he didn’t want to impair his ability to ride. Well, he’d kicked that record under the table tonight.